The Bow and The Bear
by Arianwen P.F. Everett
Summary: While training to battle the Night King's army, Lyanna Mormont has an altercation that could save the North's alliance with the Wildlings or doom it, and possibly the entire human race, to extinction.
1. Chapter 1

The Bow and the Bear: Part 1

by Arianwen P.F. Everett

Lyanna Mormont smiled as she removed her mother's bow from the cabinet that had been placed in her bedchamber at Winterfell. Due to the threat posed by the Army of the Dead, it had become more practical for each Lord or Lady of the North to maintain their own chamber at the old Northern seat for the time being, and Lyanna was grateful. It had allowed her to bring the bow and have confidence that it was locked away in an ordinary-looking bedroom cabinet, safe from potential thieves. With so many Wildlings and newcomers from the South arriving to fight the Night King and his host, she needed that assurance. Otherwise she'd have been forced to leave the weapon at home, and she craved the internal fortitude it provided her every time she touched it. It had been her mother's most prize possession, a gift from the man who'd fathered her children, of which only Lyanna remained.

Yet, for some reason Lyanna could distinctly remember her mother telling their maester and master-at-arms that the bow had been liberated from a poacher she'd captured in Bear Island's deep woods while hunting. The malefactor had been sent to the cells, the large, healthy stag he'd admitted to bringing down was carted off to the kitchens to feed House Mormont and those that served them, and the bow with the two peculiar runes carved at each end had been taken by her mother as a trophy, a message to any that would steal from their family and the people of their island home. Lyanna had long ago figured out that one story was meant to be kept between a mother and her children while the other could be spoken of in public, but the why of it she'd never understood.

Her mother had never named her father, and though most assumed he must have been lowborn, nobody on Bear Island had been dumb enough to challenge the word of the she-bear Maege Mormont. Maege Mormont had given all her daughters her name, making them trueborn by virtue of the fact that the Lady of Bear Island said they were such, and nobody in the North questioned it. Yet there were two versions of the bow's history to contend with, and Lyanna had no idea which was true. Not that she cared very much. The bow had been her mother's and that was all the history she needed to prize it and make it her own now that her mother was gone.

Putting on her mask of stern authority, Lyanna made her way to the training yard to get in some practice. She and Lord Glover had sparred again on troop placement this morning in a council meeting and this time she'd lost the battle. Even if King Jon Snow was perfectly fine with training women to fight the Night King, he wanted most of them to remain in the rear, only to be called on for reinforcements.

Greenboys were being placed ahead of battle-hardened fighters from Bear Island just because those warriors were she-bears like herself and her mother and sisters before her, and though it meant that more women would survive if they won, those women would not walk away with much glory. No songs to their names would be sung, and while the Greenboys who survived would gain a fearsome reputation, the women who fought beside them, in less strategic positions, would almost certainly be returning unheralded with more domestic futures head of them. As sole surviving heir of House Mormont, and a girl of twelve besides, Lyanna had always known she'd be held back, but she spoke for the she-bears and the other Northern women who'd be fighting and she owed them their best chance to stand as equals with their men and gain their fair share of what paltry rewards came from such a deadly undertaking as war. From her point of view, she'd failed them, and she needed to let off some steam lest she cry in frustration like a little girl.

Nearing the straw targets lined up for shooting, Lyanna had to smile as she watched Lady Brienne of Tarth toss her squire into the snow with very little effort. The young man was better than most, but against a true warrior like Brienne, he was hopelessly outclassed. Though, to give him credit, he not only knew this as fact, he accepted it and routinely dedicated himself to improvement. Lyanna had to respect that.

On the other hand, Tormund, the Wildling leader who approached the pair, was cocky and always pestering Lady Brienne. This was not to say, Lyanna objected to the Wildling presence the way some of the lords from the Vail did, but regardless of their political and military allegiance to King Jon, their kind were little better than the Iron Born, raiders, rapists, and thieves. So far they had kept to their pact with the king, but Lyanna wouldn't be surprised if they broke it the moment the Night King was defeated, assuming anyone could defeat him. Lyanna couldn't help but feel sorry for Lady Brienne to have to put up with such an unworthy and unwanted suitor.

Removing her eyes from the scene the Wildling was making, Lyanna pulled an arrow from her quiver, lined up a shot, and let it fly, hitting the target in the head, but low and a bit farther to the right than she'd meant to. She was just about to loose another arrow, when suddenly a large, meaty hand wrapped around her mother's bow and pulled it away.

"Where'd ya get this bow, Little Girl?!" Tormund demanded with an angry growl, as if Lyanna had just wrenched his family heirloom from his hands.

"My name is Lady Lyanna Mormont and you will return my weapon at once!" Lyanna insisted as she raised her chin defiantly and fought her fiery temper, lest she say something that King Jon couldn't smooth over and the North lost the Wildling alliance.

Tormund looked down into the girl's face, refusing to kneel to this Southern child. He'd asked her a question and she acted all high and mighty, as if he didn't have any right to his question. "I didn't ask you your name! I asked you where you got that bow, LITTLE GIRL?!"

Before Lyanna could respond, Lady Brienne appeared behind the Wildling, grabbing him by the back of his pelts and pushing him away from the two of them. "Lady Mormont is a child and you will not speak to her in that manner!"

"Stay out of this, Big Woman! This is between me and the girl!" Tormund hissed, only to have Brienne use her bulk to knock him to the ground and pull her sword on him.

Suddenly King Jon, Lord Glover, and Lord Royce arrived and planted themselves between Lyanna and the prone Tormund.

"What is going on here?!" Jon Snow bellowed with authority, daring anyone present to give him anything but the whole truth.

"This Wildling grabbed my bow and then threatened me, your Grace. Lady Brienne came to my aid when he refused to back off," Lyanna explained, hating to be the center of attention. Still, her eyes kept wondering to the bow that had had landed in a snowbank. She would have torn the ginger-haired savage to shreds if it had been damaged, alliance or no.

"Is this true?!" Jon demanded of Tormund as he moved to get to his feet, only to be brought up short again by Brienne's Valyrian steel sword.

"Ofcourse it's true; these animals take whatever they like, whenever it suits them! I've said it before and I'll say it again, you should never have invited them beyond the Wall!" Lord Royce boomed with vindication. He'd warmed the king many times, but hopefully now the man would see it. They might need the Wildlings help to fight the Others, but they should be used as infantry soldiers, nothing more.

"Yes, I know your opinion on that issue, but I wasn't asking you. I was asking Tormund. Did you attempt to steal Lady Mormont's bow?" Jon questioned, dismissing the windbag from the Vail and his bigoted tirade. Far too many saw the Wildlings this way and would have cheerfully let them all be slaughtered by the Army of the Dead. He hoped Tormund hadn't just provided them with a rallying cry.

"I stole nothing! I made that bow for my she-bear, many years ago, crafted it with my own two hands! If you're looking for a thief, I suggest you look to your little Lady Mormont!" Tormund spat out, staring daggers at Lyanna.

Lyanna paled at Tormund's statement. The Wildling was insane, and he was trying to drag her name into the dirt with his own! In an instant, years of self control slipped away and her rage completely subsumed her. "That bow belonged to my mother, Lady Maege Mormont of Bear Island! She gave it to me for safe keeping before she left to join Robb Stark's army and avenge your father, your Grace! I did not steal that weapon, Savage! It was my legacy!"

For a moment everyone in the training yard stood in perfect silence. The Little She-Bear, as she was affectionately called in private, had her fangs and claws out and looked ready to disembowel the Wildling leader who couldn't even managed to rise to his feet without the Maid of Tarth's sword inching closer to his throat.

"Maege was your Mama?" Tormund questioned in genuine surprise, his heart and mind working a mile a minute. He saw it now, the deep brown of her eyes, the tip of her nose, the fury in her fighting stance. It was all there, but so was her pale skin, the set of her mouth, and the kiss of fire interwoven with the brown of her straight hair. In this child he saw so many he'd known, long dead, yet melded in her features, and his eyes misted at the same time his chest constricted with all the emotions pouring through him.

Unable to speak and having no wish to continue this conversation, Lyanna spat into the snow, stomped over to her mother's bow, and left the training yard with one final growl of warning for the Wildling to stay down or loose a body part.

Nobody followed. Nobody dared.


	2. Chapter 2

The Bow and the Bear: Part 2

by Arianwen P.F. Everett

Tormund paced anxiously outside the solar the Starks held smaller private meetings in, eager to speak with his friend and learn more about the little girl.. Lyanna.. his daughter. He couldn't believe his she-bear had kept this from him. Having spoken with a few Northerners who'd he'd earned the friendship of over the past few years, he'd learned that he'd fathered five girl cubs with his Maege, yet one by one the four eldest had been killed in these cursed southern wars over just who the kneelers were supposed to kneel to. Due to her age and Maege's family's position, Lyanna had remained at their keep on Bear Island. Otherwise, he likely would have lost her as well.

Then again, he didn't really have her. Lyanna wasn't free folk. She was a kneeler. Heck, she'd been the first to call Jon Snow King of the North and kneel before him, but she was alive. His and Maege's other daughters were gone, but Lyanna, his feisty little bear cub, was alive and we vowed to make the most of that.

The arrival of Jon Snow, and his three surviving siblings, followed by the Big Woman who guarded them, dragged Tormund from his sentimental reverie and he straightened his back, ready to argue his case. The Starks were far fairer than most of the southerners he'd met, and he had high hopes that they'd help him get his child back. He was going to be the Papa he would have been all along if his she-bear had only told him about his children. Before they could even shut the door behind them, much less take their seats, Tormund plunged forward. "I need to get my girl back. With her Mama gone, Lyanna needs me. She's too young to be on her own."

"Lady Mormont heads a small, but noble house which has kept faith with House Stark for many centuries. She's not alone, Tormund. Her mother and older sisters may be dead, but she has an entire household to care for her. You needn't worry on that account," Sansa explained, trying to reassure the Wildling that the girl he believed to be his newly discovered child was well protected and being brought up with care. While a part of her balked at the idea of Lady Maege Mormont voluntarily laying with a Wildling, the more she thought about it, the less far fetched it sounded.

The woman had been a fierce warrior and Arya had idolized the infamous she-bear from the first moment she'd laid eyes on her. Sansa felt a bittersweet pang at the memory of a six year old Arya prattling on endlessly about how one day she'd visit Lady Maege, learn to fight, and go off to war with her and her daughters. Then she was hit with a not so endearing memory of Arya wishing Lyra Mormont had been her sister instead, insisting Sansa was 'useless at important things'. Looking down the table she and her siblings sat at, Sansa caught her sister's eye and could see she was reliving similar memories and smiling her head off. Well if fighting beside the Mormont women was still a dream for Arya, once the Night King somehow made it past the wall, her trained assassin of a sister would be in homicidal heaven.

Tormund sighed, knowing he was likely about to step all over the kneelers sensibilities, but knowing he must regardless of the fall out. "But she has no family, save me! All the bought off kneelers in the world can't make up for a home with a loving Papa! Surely you wolves understand that!"

Jon Snow decided he needed to reel the ginger-haired Wildling's bombastic temperament back in with a little reason before things spun out of control, which was usually what happened when Tormund felt so strongly about something. It was a slippery slope, but one friendship and experience had taught him to navigate. "How are you even sure Lyanna is your daughter? I mean, Lady Maege never revealed the identity of her children's father to anyone, even them. Yes, you may have given the Lady a bow that she passed onto her daughter, but that doesn't prove…"

"Tormund is Lady Mormont's father. Lady Maege was faithful to him from the day they met until her last day. All her daughters were his," Bran chipped in, his ever-placid face revealing no opinion on the matter what-so-ever. They all knew the boy was above such political concerns, but the rest of them weren't and he'd just put them in an extremely delicate position. Now that Tormund had what to Wildlings was irrefutable evidence, the word of the three-eyed raven himself, there was no telling how far he'd go to claim his child. Jon greatly respected the impulse, but he had the noble houses of the North, Vail, and Neck to consider.

"See. See. The lively lass is mine!" Tormund exclaimed excitedly, confident that things would now go his way.

Sansa closed her eyes and tapered down the guilt that rose up at having to burst this man's bubble. He'd been a good friend to Jon and to their family, but the Wildlings contributed barely a tenth of their host, and the other lords and ladies whose bannermen constituted the rest would balk at allowing the Little She-Bear to be handed over to a Wildling. It would be a breach of faith on par with Robb's ill thought out marriage, and this war between the living and the dead had to be handled better if anyone was to survive. The Starks had always led in the North, so the matter fell on them, and they needed to be practical, even if doing so broke the heart of a good man. "Be that as it may, Bear Island is an ally in the coming war, and…"

"Why don't we let Lyanna decide?" Arya asked out loud, completely ignoring the fact that she'd interrupted her sister's attempt at diplomacy.

Jon exchanged a look of exasperation with Sansa over their footloose sister's lack of political savvy before attempting to explain the situation better. "Arya, the other lords…"

"The other lords don't have to grow up alone," Arya stated firmly, her usually cold eyes burning with the intensity of painful experience. She'd been near Lyanna's age when their father had been beheaded, and she'd had no choice but to walk the world trusting only herself.

Before Sansa and Jon could respond to their sister's obvious pain, a knock on the door drew everyone's attention, as Lady Mormont entered the solar to speak with those assembled. She'd heard of the meeting going on and though she'd attempted to rebalance herself emotionally in her own chambers, she knew she needed to confront the situation. A child she might be, but the people of Bear Island needed her to be stronger than that. "I heard there was a meeting about what happened earlier in the training yard. I apologize for my intemperance. My mother's death obviously still weighs more heavily upon me than I'd believed, and I overreacted. I beg forgiveness for my outburst, your Grace."

A part of Jon twisted inside at the apparent calmness the young lady was demonstrating. It couldn't be healthy for her to discuss such painful matters dispassionately, but that was her training and her way. She might be Tormund's daughter, but she was also the Lady of Bear Island, and that was the heart of the matter. The two appeared irreconcilable. "There's no need to apologize, Lady Mormont. Your mother's death at the Red Wedding still grieves us all. However, your behavior in the training yard wasn't what spurred this meeting. Your father here…"

"With all due respect, your Grace, my father was a bear, and at present I do not see any bears in this room," Lyanna stated matter-of-factly. After she'd returned her mother's bow to its cabinet and regained the power to speak, she'd reviewed the prior incident and had come to the same conclusion the Wildling had reached. Tormund Giantsbane was likely her father, which meant she was half Wildling, something the people of Bear Island, much less the rest of the Northern lords, would never accept. Therefore, it could not be.

"Your father was not a bear, Darlin'. It's me. The Three-Eyed-Raven said it was so!" Tormund insisted, smiling at his child, desperately hoping she'd accept him.

"I believe you mean well, I do, but if that were so, and my mother was a liar, I would not be an acceptable ruler for Bear Island. My people would not accept you, which means I can not accept you. There is too much at stake right now," Lyanna finished, hating every measured word coming out of her mouth. She missed the freedom of being someone's child, the ability to rest without all the weight of an entire island on your shoulders, but Tormund couldn't help her in that regard. All he could do was make matters worse for her, and with the Army of the Dead so determined, she already feared she'd buckle eventually.

"My Lady, there may be little more than right now. I know I'm an outsider here, but I've lost people that I never got a chance to make peace with, and it's left me with questions that will remain unanswered for the rest of my days. You might want give this decision a bit more consideration, before closing this door for good," Brienne brooked, not wanting to see this child make a permanent mistake. Before leaving Tarth, she'd let her own father know how very dear he was to her and how much his faith in her meant. If she died in this war or the war with Queen Cersei that would likely follow, Brienne was certain that she would rest easy on that account. Renly, Lady Catelyn, even her own mother, brother, and baby sisters.. those ghosts would haunt her to her final breath. She didn't want to see this little girl live with the same regrets.

Jon Snow felt the air rush out of his lungs in relief and not for the first time he was glad the Maid of Tarth was on their side and loyal to his sisters. "Lady Brienne speaks wisely. We could all use a few days to deliberate..."

"There's nothing to deliberate! For years I let my she-bear keep our love secret because her people wouldn't understand what we had, and because of it I never got the chance to meet my four eldest daughters, much less be a father to them! Now we all face annihilation and you want me to risk my last chance with my last cub because the kneelers on Bear Island might not like the fact that the best of their women chose to fuck me?! No! I won't! By the customs of the free folk, Maege was my wife and I won't give up our remaining child for anyone or anything" Tormund railed, refusing to be shunted aside for the sake of the these close-minded people's warped ideas about mating.

"Then I'll deny all of it! I'll say you're delusional, that my mother would never stoop to marry a Wildling and the people of the North will believe it because they want to believe it! My mother was well regarded; Wildlings aren't! I belong to Bear Island and its people! I don't belong to you!" Lyanna shot back holding Tormund's eyes, the same stubbornness refusing to concede an inch from either.

Jon and Sansa shared another look between them, this one of dread. The alliance was fragile already and this news could threaten everything they'd worked to build.

And the dead continued marching, step by step, towards the Wall.


	3. Chapter 3

The Bow and the Bear: Part 3

by Arianwen P.F. Everett

"If you're with your troubles when the fighting starts, you'll soon have a lot more trouble, Dead Girl," Arya preached, hearing Syrio Forel's accented voice in her head as she spoke. Like herself at that age, Lyanna Mormont was small but determined to become a warrior. Arya's Braavosi training favored speed over strength, and Lady Mormont age and good health gave her natural speed. However, even minor distractions could easily become fatal mistakes and Arya couldn't blame the young mistress of Bear Island for her inability to concentrate. She'd just had her world turned upside down, but Arya seriously doubted the dead would care.

"I apologize. Let's try it again," Lyanna responded, shaking her head as if that could clear her thoughts.

She was effectively at war with the man who had fathered her, and word was spreading about her origins. While she'd been right that most of the lords and ladies wouldn't believe a word of it or if they did would refuse to acknowledge their belief publicly, the smallfolk, who made up the bulk of their growing armies were a different matter. They'd started whispering about her and clearing a path whenever she passed by, the same path they gave Tormund and his people. They believed the rumors, or at least entertained them as possible, and as a result feared Lyanna because of it. Thankfully, her island's 51 remaining bannermen were as loyal as ever, though they certainly would have heard the story by now. It warmed her to know her people were with her, even if the other Northerners and men of the Vail and Neck were skittish.

"No, your mind is not on fighting. Perhaps you should spend the rest of your training time focusing on your spear drills or practice your sword forms. Until your mind is completely centered on your opponent, any sparing time you put in will be wasted," Arya insisted, resting Needle behind her back as she spoke. She didn't want to be cruel, but there were plenty of other women and children who needed more lessons if they were going to fight for their lives when the dead arrived and she couldn't spend time working with someone who wasn't fully in the moment. She sympathized with the girl, but she couldn't afford to waste her own time out of sympathy.

"I understand. Thank you, Lady Arya," Lyanna replied, moving away from the amazingly skilled girl who was rumored to be able to change faces. She'd chosen to train with Lady Arya because of the similarity in their builds and their strengths, but Lyanna knew she'd only spoken truth when she'd rightfully dismissed her. At the moment, Lyanna couldn't focus and would end up wasting everyone's time if she remained in this quagmire. The problem was, she still hadn't figured out how to handle the situation, so resolving it was still a ways off.

Sword forms she could do. They built up strength, control of the blade, and most importantly, didn't require the same level of concentration as one-on-one sparing. Finding a less obtrusive spot in the yard, Lyanna moved through her exercises, forcing herself to push away her distractions as best she could.

"I thought you were training with Lady Arya. What happened?" Brienne questioned, having noticed Lyanna working by herself in the corner of the courtyard. While she understood the impulse to train alone, Lyanna needed to learn to master her restless mind if she were to fight in this war, or any war for that matter.

"I wasn't focused enough to spar, so Lady Arya dismissed me for the day and told me to work on my forms," Lyanna explained, not letting herself get distracted by this conversation at least.

"Well, while I agree with her on your need for greater focus in times of strife, you'll never gain that focus if you only train when your mind is clear. Come. We can spar. The dead aren't likely to be skilled in Braavosi water dancing anyway," Brienne japed, earning her a smile and a nod from the Lady of Bear Island.

The next half hour passed with Lyanna being tossed around like a rag doll and loving every minute of it. Lady Brienne's style relied far more on power strikes, but Lyanna found that channeling some of her anger and frustration into her strikes made her more effective than just deflecting blows until she found an opening like Arya had taught her to do. True, with her smaller build the effect of her own blows was limited, but the session did help her to gain better control over her emotions. She'd figured out that so long as the source of the rage and the rage itself were separated, her emotions could help her.

It also explained why Arya was relatively cold and sought to limit any tells to her mood when she struck. Lady Brienne's way required a different type of self discipline, one that seemed better suited for her own temperament. Uncertain about which method would best suit her, Lyanna decided to work with both women in the weeks ahead and find the best technique for her. At least the exercise had gotten her mind off her immediate troubles for a little while, but upon seeing Tormund standing by the main gate, they all came flooding back like a kick to the chest.

"Perhaps you should talk to him," Brienne proffered, having followed Lyanna's eyes to see what had suddenly soured her recently improved mood.

"Perhaps you should," Lyanna returned, not wanting to discuss the Wildling who'd fathered her and instead turned the tables on the woman he was currently, if unsuccessfully attempting to court.

"He's not my father, my lady. I know you don't want to acknowledge his paternity, but Brandon Stark says it's true and even if he didn't, I think deep down you feel it. He loved your mother, as did you. That fact, at least, should spur your compassion," Brienne advised, watching the girl's face for any reaction to her words. It was a delicate situation, but from where she sat it could be a watershed in dispelling the distrust surrounding both the Wildlings and the Westerosi Houses fighting this war. After all, the Wildlings seemed willing to give up their raiding and kidnapping of Westerosi women in exchange for the land they'd been given and the freedom to live in accordance with their beliefs. So long as they kept their word, Brienne saw no reason why the two cultures couldn't live together in harmony.

Dorne and the Stormlands had engaged in similar conflicts before the Dornish became the seventh kingdom and now, even with the political upheaval of the past few years, the two regions lived in relative peace and mutual prosperity. She saw no reason why the same spirit of good will couldn't take hold in the North if Lyanna acknowledged and embraced Tormund as her father and used her considerable influence and oratory skills to give that act greater meaning. The little girl had proven herself a true leader of men, and the North truly needed those like air at the moment.

"He has my compassion, but I can't be his daughter. My loyalty is to the people of Bear Island, and he would have no place there. All he could do is cause my people to distrust me, making it impossible for me to lead them," Lyanna affirmed, biting her lower lip. She knew that the Wildlings were making an effort to change, seeing as their survival now depended on cooperation rather than animosity with the Northmen, but they'd been raiding and carrying off the women from her island for centuries. In time the situation might change and grudges might ease, but for now the people who called themselves Free Folk were still rapists, thieves, and looters to most of the North, even if one of their number had been especially dear to her mother.

"With all due respect, Lady Mormont, I believe you're underestimating your influence. Your island is small and sparsely populated, yet the council hangs on your every word. You hold a great deal of power here at Winterfell, and your people know who has granted them such a loud voice in determining their fate. I doubt they would give up that voice merely to spite one Wildling man who's already proven his loyalty to their king and had once won the heart of a woman whose memory they hold in such high esteem," Brienne expounded on her perspective. The politics of the situation were dicey, but this wasn't King's Landing. As her Lady Sansa had once said, Northerners were different, more loyal, and Lyanna and her family of she-bears held an oversized share of that loyalty. The twelve-year-old just needed the emotional fortitude to use it.

Lyanna gave Lady Brienne's words their due. Yes there was a risk here, but perhaps it was less than she'd previously believed. If she were to consider openly acknowledging Tormund, there would have to be certain assurances, and she would need allies to ensure the more xenophobic lords and ladies on the council, like Lord Royce, didn't try to minimize her standing with King Jon and the rest of the council. If that happened, both Bear Island the Wildlings would be outmaneuvered. Looking up at Lady Brienne, who seemed to be waiting for a response, Lyanna finally spoke once more. "I thank you for your counsel on this matter. You've given me a lot to consider. May I ask you a personal question, Lady Brienne?"

"Ofcourse, my lady," Brienne replied curiously, but without hesitation.

"Ever since I met with King Jon and his family about this matter, I've been trying to piece together why my mother chose Tormund, that is.. what made her fall so deeply in love with a Wildling that she stayed faithful to him all those years and bore him five daughters. It wasn't a very prudent match, considering she had to hide it from everyone, including my sisters and me, yet it was obviously her choice. I guess what I want to know is why do you think he meant so much to her, and why don't you feel the same way, seeing how he's obviously infatuated with you now? I apologize if I'm not phrasing my questions properly. I just don't really understand any of this stuff."

Brienne suddenly smirked, barely able to contain a deep belly laugh, thus earning herself a terrifying glare from the young lady of Bear Island. "I'm sorry, My Lady, but you've just asked one of the most complex questions in human experience, why we love the people we love, and the truth is I have no idea. I'm not sure anyone does, not really, but someone wiser than he realizes he is, at least in regards to certain matters, once told me that we don't get to choose whom we love. Whatever her reasons, your mother's feelings were real enough for her that she kept returning to Tormund year after year. As for myself, I'm just not interested in him. He's too.. different from me, I guess. He's not a bad man; I just don't want any sort of relationship with him, that's all."

"Does it have anything to do with him being a Wildling?" Lyanna pressed further, trying to ascertain whether there were any parameters at all to this whole business or whether people just woke up one morning longing for someone. If that were the case, she'd have to pray the gods never so cursed her or if they did that they made the object of her affections someone appropriate for a lady of her standing.

Brienne thought about the question for a moment before answering. "Perhaps. Again, this isn't something I've had much experience with, but whenever Tormund approaches me, I feel very uncomfortable and want nothing more than to flee or compel him to do so. I know that explanation is vague, but when you're attracted to someone, you just know it instinctively, like you know when you're hungry or tired. The same holds true for when you're not interested in a person. Nobody has to tell you and nobody can talk you into feeling differently. The feelings just are and you deal with them as best you can."

Lyanna sighed at how complicated it all seemed. No wonder so many songs were written about these things, and judging by the look on Lady Brienne's face, she was just as confused by it all herself, though her confusion appeared to be mixed with sadness and frustration. She thought back over the conversation and found that the only moment the woman had seemed certain, as if she truly understood the issue, was when she was discussing her friend who'd given her the advise about not being able to choose the person you fall in love with. Whoever he was, he surely knew more about the subject, which made Lyanna curious about his identity and where his own experiences lay. "That person who told you that you don't get to choose whom you love, the one you said was wiser than he realized, who was he anyway?"

For a brief moment, Lady Brienne looked uncomfortable, then pressed forward as if she were embarrassed by her discomfort. "Ser Jaime Lannister, My Lady."

"The Kingslayer?" Lyanna queried, not certain she'd heard correctly. She found it odd that Lady Brienne would admire anything someone like him would tell her, and yet she'd found some sort of wisdom in his words.

At the sound of Ser Jaime's moniker, Brienne winced as she usually did in such situations. "Some people call him that, yes."

"But you don't?" Lyanna continued, having never heard anyone question the Kingslayer's legacy before. In the North he was particularly despised, and from what she'd been told of life in the South, his reputation wasn't much better there either.

"No, I call him Ser Jaime.. and before you ask, it's not my story to tell, my lady," Brienne added before the inquisitive girl could ask the inevitable questions that would likely have arisen. Jaime had told her the details of his most infamous deed while half-lucid with fever, in an attempt to prove his trust in her. She owed him her silence on the matter.

"Fair enough, Lady Brienne," Lyanna replied, willing to accept that answer. She didn't want to pry into something Lady Brienne felt she could not speak of. The woman had been far too generous with her assistance thus far and Lyanna wouldn't abuse her kindness.

"How about just Brienne from now on, my lady?" the Maid of Tarth offered, feeling that her own burdens had lightened somewhat from the conversation with the girl.

Lyanna smiled, feeling better than she had since Tormund had grabbed her bow yesterday. Grant it she had work to do if she were to figure out how best to approach the situation, but at least now she had a positive direction. She was working from intent, not fear and she was grateful to La.. Brienne for taking the time to help her find her way. "And you can call me Lyanna."


	4. Chapter 4

Authoress' Note: This is the final section. The story is complete at this point. There will be no sequels, although I may come back to some of the major themes or plot points in future, unrelated works. I hope you all enjoyed!

The Bow and the Bear: Part 4

by Arianwen P.F. Everett

Shortly after the evening meal, Lyanna Mormont cloaked herself from head to toe and met Podrick Payne near the gates that led to field just outside Winterfell where the Wildlings had all made camp in preparation for the fight ahead. Lad.. Brienne had offered to escort her, but the truth was that Lyanna wasn't looking to draw attention to herself and Brienne's height made her stand out in people's minds. Her squire on the other hand was exceptionally plain, which is why Brienne had agreed to send the young man along with Lyanna. He would have her back if Tormund or the other Wildlings got any ideas about keeping her against her will, but would otherwise draw no unwanted attention. If things went well she was fully prepared to make a statement and publicly acknowledge their kinship. If not, there would be no lasting political repercussion from this meeting.

Reaching the camp, finding the ginger-haired Wildling was easy enough. He was dead center with a group of his peers whom she'd seen in the council chambers along side him. As he had been the one his people had chosen to speak for them, the other three men were likely his advisers, although Lyanna had no idea how that worked with the Free Folk, as they preferred to be called.

Taking a deep breath, Lyanna marched straight up to Tormund and waited to be acknowledged. At first the men just kept chatting about a pack of wild dogs that had chased them halfway to the Land of Always Winter before loosing interest when they came upon a flock of large birds Lyanna had never heard of before, but after she'd cleared her throat loudly, the group broke off their discussion to turn in her direction. Once she knew she'd gotten their attention, she stiffened her spine and spoke with as much diplomatic authority as she could muster in her compact body. "I'd like to speak with Tormund, please."

The three men were startled at the child's formality in the middle of their raucus camp, but a moment later Tormund snapped out of it as he realized just who was under the thick, fur-lined hooded black cloak. "Lyanna? Is that you under there?"

"Yes. I've come to speak with you, to discuss a better way forward for both our peoples," the Lady of Bear Island stated succinctly, refusing to drop the refinements of a Northern lady. That was a deal breaker. She wasn't a Wildling and she'd never be one. If she and Tormund were to bond and have a real relationship as father and daughter, he had to understand that there was no going back on that point. She could respect his culture, even learn from his culture, but it would never be her, nor his people her own.

"So this your southern cub, Tormund?" one of the men standing next to the ginger-haired Wildling asked, examining what little of Lyanna he could see with her face now tilted up towards them.

"Yep, she's mine! Three-eyed Raven confirmed it! So you've finally come to your senses, have ya Lass," Tormund asked, bending down to look his girl straight in the eye. Her mother had once told him that you needed to look someone in the eyes to see where there heart truly was. Despite what most southerners chose to believe, the children of the First Men were very much alike regardless of which side of the Wall they lived, and he and Maege had always seen eye-to-eye on the important things. Those Andals were the crazy ones.

"I've come because I want to get to know you and to know more about my mother. The more I think about it, the more I've come to understand that she kept a lot from me and I don't want her memory to be that of a stranger. She had to have loved you. I know she told my sisters and I that the bow was a gift from our father, even if she didn't tell us your name, and I doubt she would have prized it so greatly if you hadn't been very important to her. I just want to understand," Lyanna admitted shyly. These were not the words of a lady or a leader. These were the feelings of a girl, the part of herself that she'd put away after the Red Wedding had taken her mother and three of her sisters, leaving her as the head of House Mormont. Now that identity was rusty and her words proved it, but if she was to decide to be Tormund's little girl than she had to expose that side of herself. He wanted a daughter not a politician.

"We were important to each other, Lass. Your Mama and I would go months apart, yet no matter how much time passed, every time she'd come out onto the beach to meet me, it was like seeing her again for the first time. She was the best woman I've ever known, so strong and confident, not to mention she had the wickedest right hook. Nearly broke my jaw once!" Tormund reminisced, the longing for his she-bear evident in his twinkling eyes, even as he laughed at a fond memory running through his head.

"She was a great warrior," Lyanna stated simply, gladdened that Tormund truly understood what had made her mother so special. Up until now she'd worried that it had all been about f*cking, that Tormund's claim of love for his she-bear had just been flowery words meant to sway soft, sentimental southern hearts. But now he was speaking in front of his own people, and Lyanna had already learned that amongst the Free Folk openness was highly valued. Nobody cared about being polite, but failing to speak your mind was frowned upon. It was viewed as deception and that behavior belonged to the world of 'kneelers'.

"Aye, that she was," Tormund responded, not knowing what else to say. It was true. His Maege had fought with him frequently, but there had never been any true animosity. They both loved the fight and were evenly matched. Love had followed from that and they had said vows in front of a Weirwood. She had even let him steal her away for a fortnight as to cement them in his own people's traditions. She'd been stronger than any spearmaiden he'd fought beside, and she'd chosen him as her husband. But she had never told him they'd had children. That new pain was sinking deep into his heart now, as he looked at his last cub. She felt it too, and it was leaving her just as speechless, right at the moment they should be talking up a storm.

After a few moments of silence, Podrick Payne broke the solemn mood with a loud sneeze followed with a hasty apology. "I'm sorry, m'lady."

"Ah, what's the Big Woman's bed warmer doing here with ya?" Tormund asked, eyeing the young man with suspicion.

"Podrick is Lady Brienne's squire, not her lover, and she sent him with me to ensure my safety. She said she didn't feel comfortable with me coming out here alone and Lady Sansa agreed," Lyanna explained, wanting to correct Tormund's assumption that Brienne was involved with her squire.

"Squire? What is a squire?" one of the other men with Tormund asked, confused by the word and why the Big Woman hadn't come herself if she was so worried for the child.

"It's like a student, an apprentice. He travels with Lady Brienne, and she spars with him and teaches him how to wage war, and in return he tends the horses, makes fires, fetches water.. that sort of thing," Lyanna detailed, attempting to explain the idea of a squire to the man she'd seen a few times in the council chamber with her father.

"So he's like her woman!" the man burst out laughing, angering Lyanna and causing Podrick to scowl in insult. He didn't dare challenge the Wildling's statement, but Lyanna could tell it still stung him.

Before she could give this man beside her father a piece of her mind, a hand clasped her shoulder and Tormund stood between them. "P*ss off, Alotin! The Big Woman sent the lad to guard my girl. Kneeler or not he's my guest, and I won't have you insulting my guest."

The man, Alotin, backed off with a nod, then walked away from the group to find his own tent, none too happy about the reprimand. He'd never understand these kneelers' ways and was grateful that one way or another things would soon be resolved. If the dead won, they'd all be in the afterlife and none of it would matter. If the living were victorious, the Free Folk could return home, beyond the Wall. Most of their kind was already lost, but those that had survived could rebuild on their own land, practicing their own ways. No more southerners telling them how to live.

"Thank you," Podrick offered. He knew he was older than most squires, but he didn't want to be knighted until Lady Brienne was. It just didn't seem right. Besides, he wasn't yet good enough to be a knight, but with his lady's training he was getting there. When the Army of the Dead came, he'd fight beside Lady Brienne, and hopefully, if they both survived, they'd both be knighted. Times were changing and there was no reason why the Dragon Queen or King Jon couldn't knight Lady Brienne if they took the iron throne. If Queen Cersei won that war, both of them would be dead, so it wouldn't matter.

Grunting an acknowledgement, Tormund turned back to his daughter. "You hungry? We still have some roasted goat left over from supper."

"No thank you. I had stew in the dining hall before I came over. I just wanted to talk to you and let you know that I plan to publicly acknowledge that you're my father in tomorrow's council meeting right before we break for lunch. King Jon and I believe that's the best time as we'll have already gotten the real business out of the way by then, and if anyone walks out, the war effort won't be impacted. You can tell everyone of how you and mother were married before a Weirwood tree, so there will be no question of my being trueborn, and the Starks have promised their support to us, which will silence most of the Northern lords. If there's any trouble, we can confront it head on before the king gavels out the meeting, and answer questions as they come. So long as we're open about it, it's up to those who don't like it to do the heavy lifting," Lyanna explained, her politician hat firmly back on. She might be a little girl, but Brienne had been right, she was also a respected lady and adviser to the King of the North. Opposing her over a personal matter in a time of war would be foolish.

"Aye, Jon Snow and his family's support will go a long way," Tormund conceded, realizing that his friend had once again come through for him. He'd never kneel before the man, but he'd follow him into hell a thousand times out of hard won loyalty.

Lyanna smiled as she looked up at her father and realized that he accepted her for who she was. After their meeting with the Starks, she'd become convinced that if she accepted him entirely, he'd try to reshape her into a Wildli.. Free Folk, and wouldn't even consider the needs of Bear Island or the North in his actions to claim her as his own child. Now she saw that she'd been wrong, that despite her attempts to work with them this past year, she too had held a prejudice against her father's people, seeing them as a group, not as individuals. Her father was a good man. King Jon had seen it long ago, and now she was proud of him too.

As he was about to invite his daughter and her protector into his tent to show her a knife Maege had given him when she'd broken one of his in a throwing contest, Tormund suddenly found himself the recipient of a giant hug from his little cub and tears sprung to his eyes. Lifting her up in his arms, she slipped her own around his neck and began to cry as well. For several minutes they just stood there, outside the tent, in the snow, letting the years of grief and the desperate struggle to rebuild wash over them and then back out to sea. They'd both seen horrors and been forced to make choices for the survival of their people that nobody should ever be cursed to make, and with the dead marching, many more of those choices and horrors were likely still ahead of them. Yet here and now they were safe and together. It might not last, one or both could be lost in the coming war, but the now was beautiful and Tormund had long ago learned to take what beauty was to be found in this sh*thole of a world.

As he put his child down, his eyes found the Big Woman's squire.. squatter, whatever, and snorted in amusement at the giant tears streaming down the young man's red cheeks and swollen nose, more overcome with emotion at the scene than the two people who'd actually been hugging. Obviously the further south you went the crazier everyone became.

Good thing he and his she bear had been First Men. They were made of sterner stuff, and their cub appeared to be just as strong as her forebearers. One day she'd be all grown up and have cubs of her own, and he prayed to their gods that he'd be alive to see them. The way Tormund saw it, the gods owed them that at least. Then again that dog fellow with the burns and sad eyes had made a good point. The gods could be c*nts when they wanted to be, and it was a rare thing that they granted people what they truly deserved. At least he had his cub now. At least they'd granted him that.


End file.
